


Sunday Mornings

by BuzzCat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Reflection, kinda sorta, pining for the past maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6455119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuzzCat/pseuds/BuzzCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam sat on his porch, watching the sun rise. He hadn’t slept yet, staring at the same hill when the stars had glowed cold and bright and when the sun had started to reach up and burn away the morning dew. He had a beer in one hand and nothing in the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> If you want a song to go along with this, I was listening to Alabama Rain by Jim Croce when I was writing it. I think it fits the tone very well.

 

Sam sat on his porch, watching the sun rise. He hadn’t slept yet, staring at the same hill when the stars had glowed cold and bright and when the sun had started to reach up and burn away the morning dew. He had a beer in one hand and nothing in the other. It was a Sunday morning, the time of the week Sam had come to dread. Sunday mornings used to hold such a joy, lazy kisses and lying in bed whispering things too weighted to say any other time. Breakfast in bed; sometimes they wouldn’t put on clothes until lunch. Now, Sunday morning weren’t like that. Sunday mornings now were a time of tortuous contemplation and remembering what and who he’d lost. As he took another drink, he closed his eyes and remembered what it had been like when his hand held another.

It was years since Sam had held Gabriel’s hand. The first time had been a nonevent, almost an accident. They’d been in a funhouse and a clown had jumped out. Sam had grabbed the hand closest to his, which happened to belong to Gabriel, the gorgeous man with golden eyes and a grin that Sam couldn’t help but return. He’d smiled at Sam and said, “Don’t worry Gigantor, I’ve got you.”

Sam had held that hand for months afterward, growing used to the feel of the solid fingers wound between his, the occasional smear of chocolate that transferred from one hand to the other. Gabriel always had sweets, back then. Everything from caramel to peppermints to chocolate, stuffed in his pockets and in the car glove compartment. He hadn’t kept peppermints until he realized Sam liked them, liked the taste of them in Gabriel’s mouth. Then Gabriel always had a couple stuffed at the bottom of his pockets and one in his mouth, rolling it around and letting it clack against his teeth when he would grin at Sam like there wasn’t a care in the world for them.

Sam took another drink from his beer. He didn’t eat peppermints anymore.

It was only a few months after they’d met, when Sam had grabbed Gabriel’s hand, that Sam had first said he loved him. Sam had known he’d have to say it first because though Gabriel hadn’t said the words, it was shown in so many ways. The peppermints. The way Gabriel would smile after Sam kissed him, how he visibly relaxed every time Sam would hold him. Gabriel said that when Sam held him, wrapped his arms around the shorter man’s body and pulled him close like he wanted to pull him into his skin, that Gabriel felt safe. It felt _right_. It felt right to Sam too, pulling him so close and hoping that if Sam held him tight enough then maybe, just maybe, Gabriel would stay.

At that thought, Sam felt a tear roll down his cheek and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch up in a smile that never really lived before it died. How times had changed.

Soon, Sam’s arms didn’t make Gabriel feel safe. He felt trapped. He didn’t relax when Sam held him, he tensed and ducked out at the earliest chance. They stopped holding hands. Gabriel stopped eating peppermints. And then one day, Gabriel stopped loving him. Sam had come home to a note and a half-empty closet. He’d gotten drunk that night, drunk enough that he burned his sheets that smelled like Gabriel, the stupid cuckoo clock Gabriel had insisted they needed. Anything that Gabriel hadn’t taken and Sam couldn’t stand to look at burned.

That was three years ago and Sam still turned over in his sleep, trying to wrap an arm around a warm body that wasn’t there. Each time, he would jolt out of sleep and lay awake until he heard the birds start singing. It was always worse on Sunday morning, to the point that sometimes Sam wouldn’t sleep Saturday nights because if he never slept, then it wouldn’t have to be morning and he wouldn’t have to be alone in a house meant for two.

Sam looked out off the porch and watched the long dusty drive that led up to the house. He knew that a part of him was waiting for a rattletrap car to come puttering up the drive, for Gabriel to get out and run to him so Sam could pull him close and Gabriel could feel safe and Sam could feel needed. But also knew that no matter how long he stared at that drive, there was nothing coming up that drive but tumbleweeds and soured memories. He finished his beer and went back into the house. The sun could rise for someone else today, give someone else hope today. Sam didn’t want hope; Sam just wanted to sleep until it wasn’t Sunday morning.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see more, let me know and I'll see what I can do about making a fluffy ending. If you have any prompts for this pairing, feel free to leave them in the comments or come talk to me on Tumblr at buzz-cat.tumblr.com


End file.
